This mini project aims to highlight the creativity, and ingenious talent of the students from S.R.M University, Sikkim.
It also aims to showcase the abundance potentiality of the students, and room for future improvement and achievements.
Our team has taken up the task to find some such hidden gems among the arduous curriculum of academics, and let imagination speak it’s own language.
Here are few of such wonders.
Shivam Thapa
Born in Darjeeling the romantic old colonial queen of the Himalayan hills,
A poet who derives inspiration from my devotion and my love for knowledge and philosophy.
The laid back romance of the hills is what he has inherited from his hometown and he tries his best to bring a little bit of that pahare flare of laziness in works no matter how dark the theme may be.
Similarly, here are few literary works written by the members of this group.
Morning Coffee.
My morning coffee awaits silently upon my table.
It’s aroma dances through the air as it reaches my senses.
Rain gently taps on my window bringing with it;
The fragrance of dust that makes me think of you.
I spent my night away inhaling the smell of ink while i wrote,
My hands are painted blue with it’s touch.
My tiered eyes awaits desperately for sleep to kiss them soft.
Yet I can’t fall into my cushion of comfort.
You come in my dream like soft breeze caressing my skin.
You make love to me in silence and i fail to hold you tight.
And when my eyes open to search for you next to my bed.
You disappear making me wonder,what if my eyes were forever shut?
I could be with you,kiss you,have you in my arms and never let go.
But I can’t go like you have gone now,
All I have is the cup of coffee,the aroma,
whispering someday you will come home.
Sherab Zangpo.
Paradox
I’m a web of contradicting thoughts.
I’m a traveller who doesn’t want to leave home.
I’m a thinker who thinks that he thinks too much.
I’m a lover who never needed loved as such.
A painter who never really picks up the brush.
I’m the voice that says start and the reason which screams to stop.
Ideas that fuels fascination beyond doubts.
And yet also the opinion silencing the ideas with harsh shouts.
I seek company yet loneliness is what i look out.
I hate being alone but somehow feel misplaced in the crowd.
I tend to be a messenger of peace but call myself an agent of chaos.
Perhaps i’m the good and the bad news.
I’m bottled up with conflicting views.
I can decide but I don’t like to choose.
Abhay chettri.
Dancing in the rain.
The passion for possession has an over howling sensation of sadness.
The bag of greed keeps getting bigger with each achieveness.
Blessed are the ones who don’t need much to survive.
Damned are those who want everything to acquire.
They say nature can provide everything to sustain man man’s need.
But very fool are the ones who rape it everyday just to satisfy their greed.
Ever wonder what you’re gonna take with you when you’re dead?
Nothing but your flesh and bones and perhaps a little regret,
That you could never stop and admire the flowers of spring.
When autumn breathed it’s golden breath it was wealth you were chasing.
Perhaps your soul will fly over those countless waterfalls and release a sigh.
When you realise no coins can buy the calmness when you sink under sunshine and feel a little right.
You might look for company of an old friend whom you could never give time.
That idiots sits by your grave sometimes with gentle tear on his eyes.
You roam around and witness everything you missed.
Your baby’s first word or the way that she kissed.
Look at you what do you really hope to conquer?
Happiness resides in small things,did that thought ever occur?
I know if you could go back now you would be a better person.
Kinder and humble and love is existence’s only reason.
But now as you drift away feeling eternity of pain.
I’ll pray one day you’ll be back again and i find you dancing in the rain.
Pema gyalpo.
A man’s life.
When does a boy become a man?
Perhaps after his first smoke, a sip of booze? Or, maybe when he stands up to the bully in his school with eyes sparkling defiance standing up to a guy twice his size, With clenched fists and bloody nose and anger overpowering all his fear. Since childhood boys learn to stand up or be shut down, So perhaps his arrogance now was helplessness once.
How does a man love?
There were harps and violins singing tales of undying love when she arrived dressed as spring in early June. First love that shattered innocence a heart held, now fears betrayal of beloved. See love turns people into paradox. Lust sips in instead of trust, and scorned hearts hides in shadows barely existent and most often lost.
You see we grow quite as we age , those teenage rebellion now changes into unexplainable experience. And nights of parties quietly becomes a long chat with an old friend.
There are days when responsibilities cripple our shoulders yet we don’t share much, do we?”Well my burden should only belong to me”.A family to nurture, a life giver and yet a silent passers-by on the streets.
Men just don’t live, We grow each day little by little. Till our old bodies are tucked in some forlone bed awaiting for death. Perhaps to be born again, first smoke, first booze or rather to stand up to that bully in school.
Some of our seniors have been extremely enthusiastic, and overwhelmingly supportive for this project. Here is one by Abinash Chettri, hailing from Nimtar East Sikkim, a wonderful artist who humbly claims to be a simple student.
Here is another beautiful expression by Shivam,
Indian writings
Rekesh Chettri 18LC401034.
Sherab Zangpo Lepcha 18LC401039.
Abhay Chettri 18LC401035.
Pema Gyalpo Moktan 18LC401018.
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